Conrad Ambrose Peter

Trigger warning… this is a bit gruesome at points

You have been warned.

Part one

Well this story starts with a baby who didn't know how to be upside down, ends with a giant head, and it has a lot of love from and for the NHS in the middle.

I was about 40 weeks pregnant when my midwife mentioned that I was ‘measuring big’. She was a bit worried and so sent me to hospital for a scan.

So that Thursday afternoon I jollied off to the hospital with Matt in tow. We were all extremely surprised to find during the scan that my fluid levels were pretty high and also the baby was hanging out sideways!

 We spoke to a lovely consultant who told me that I would need to be admitted as it was pretty late in the day and there was a significant risk of cord prolapse if my waters broke spontaneously. She also mentioned a C section which I was pretty resistant to. In the end we came up with a plan for me to come in the following morning for them to perform and ECV (aka External Cephalic Version aka you get a painful injection and then the doctor manipulates your tummy by grabbing you hard enough to actually bruise you which will hopefully get the baby into the right position) and then break my waters to get him on his way.

OR as matt so poetically put it ‘its time to pull the plug’.

When I got to the hospital the next day unfortunately there wasn’t enough midwives on shift for them to be able to carry out the plan. Though the lovely consultant was able to do the ECV (ouch) they weren’t able to follow through by breaking my waters. I was still very keen to avoid having a C section which some of the doctors were suggesting, so I said I would wait.

They woke me up on Saturday at 3am to have another go at breaking my waters but when they scanned me, baby had popped back up and was happily chilling in a breech position. The heartbreak.

So commenced the slowest weekend in the history of all weekends.

While the rest of the country celebrated king Charles and his nice shiny crown, the delivery unit at Harrogate went mental. Woman after woman came in to have babies, and I waited.

 Every day the midwives would scan me to see where my rascally baby was at, and true to form, he was in a different position every time they looked. He also didn't much like being monitored and would kick the sensors off my tummy repeatedly whenever a trace was needed which wasn’t much fun for anyone.

During this time we got to know lots of midwives, doctors and other members of staff and without exception despite the ridiculously busy weekend they were kind, wonderful and went above and beyond to make me feel comfortable. They were also SO supportive of me trying to have the baby vaginally which was amazing.

I had one further attempted ECV which was unfortunately not successful.

Finally things calmed down on the unit and by Monday night the staff had said that they should be able to get things going the next day. Alas it turned out that there wasn’t anyone on shift that day who could do the procedure.

 But all was not lost! The senior doctor had used the almighty wattsapp chat group to summon someone (anyone!!!) who could confidently give it a go it to come in specially.

She sweetly waved it under my nose to show me that the SOS had been issued.

Let me tell you, it was pretty terrifying to have the fate of my womb in the hands of a wattsapp group chat which most likely also contained many memes, and a nice array of pictures of Sally from radiology’s lovely coronation street party.

 However despite my doubts, once again the amazing NHS staff were coming up trumps and going above and beyond to give us the best care in an extremely non ideal situation.

 So on Tuesday morning I woke up around 3am, I was very aware that this was my last chance to avoid a section so I bounced for a while on the bouncy ball, listening to worship music and willing this child to get head down. When the midwife came around 8:am to scan us we found that he was finally head down and pretty much engaged. Matt and I hastily dashed out for a walk as I was too scared to sit down in case he bounced back up again.

We knew we needed to act quickly and the brilliant consultant (the fantastically named Mr Efstathios Altanis) arrived on the scene to save the day. His nickname was ‘magic hands’ which was an encouraging start.

I was prepped with a cannula and met the anaesthetist who was waiting in the wings to put me under general and get me to theatre if everything went wrong. (he was a small and cheerful man who ended our conversation by conveying to me his fervent wish to never clap eyes upon me again. The feeling was mutual.) Two doctors a consultant and two senior midwives all piled into the room and I was attached to the monitor and scanned the whole time.  Me and Matt were feeling distinctly nervy by this point.

The consultant was able to break my waters after a bit of toing and froing with a crochet hook and it was very clear that there was a LOT of fluid which had been enabling this kid to perform all the acrobatics. As soon as the waters were broken baby panicked and wriggled out of position again much to the dismay of the assembled crowd. They kept a collective cool head though and continued to scan to check the cord was well out of the way and not at risk of prolapse.

The doctors were Amazing. Magic hands justified his nickname and somehow pushed him back into a good position, the others applied pressure from above to keep him head down and held him in place, they kept this position for 20 minutes at which point we were all very sweaty and certain esteemed medical professionals had a lot of amniotic fluid in their crocs.

I was on an eye level with Mr A this whole time due to my (slightly compromising) bolt upright in bed with stirrups in the air position, so was able to use strong eye contact to convey my sincere thanks for my release from the predicament that I had found myself in.

Next they started me on the oxytocin drip until my contractions had started.

Then we were all able to breathe again as they declared the situation stable and left me to it.

Everything progressed nicely for a while and I got in my labour groove feeling pretty confident about the next bit. Matt and me are pretty well established in our roles by this point! But when I started to push it became apparent that all was not quuuiite as it should be.

 

Part two

In all the kerfuffle my sweet son had somehow managed to get his face turned around so that he was posterior.

Colloquialisms for a posterior presentation…. ‘Star gazing’ ‘sunny side up’ or simply ‘OP’ which frankly make it sound far too appealing. If I were to give it a name I would probably call it ‘torture of the highest degree’ or possibly ‘an absolute bloody nightmare’ .

Having breathed out my two middle children in a relatively smug hypnobirthing style I was somewhat taken aback by the change of program and started to make quite a lot of noise, despite the lovely gas and air.

At around this time a living legend strolled into the room.

Her name was Gail, she had a glorious Scottish accent and was unapologetically bossy. She led the conversation with ‘what are you making all that noise for, its not helping!’

The other midwife and a student midwife who had been with us from the beginning and who had been very nice to me, deferring to my experience as  person-who-gives-birth-with-relatively-little-difficulty were, I like to imagine, somewhat taken aback.  

But it turned out that Gails voice was the only one I needed to hear. She was like a bossy light guiding me back to the land of the living. She was the one who explained about the tricky position and she was the one that told me it would feel different and that I needed to let go of my expectations for how I had given birth before. She gave me clear instructions which some part of me was able to follow despite the tiredness.

She also had an enormous amount of confidence in me which was infectious. When I reached a point of exhaustion she and the others cheered me on and reminded me of why I had so wanted to give birth in this way in the first place (I had forgotten!!) we ditched the gas and air so that I could concentrate a bit better and somehow that helped.  

Their belief and incredible skill were how I came to push my son out into the world. It really did involve blood sweat and tears as he also turned out to weigh a huge 9lbs 5oz but largely and thankfully due to the midwives skill I only had a small tear despite my history.

I can remember snatched pieces of that night after Conrad Ambrose was born. The way he latched on to me and fed like a champion. Matt pouring water into my parched mouth. The cramps in my legs from holding them tense for so long. The massive kiss on the forehead Gail gave me when she congratulated me and told me ‘YOU DID IT! (this still makes my eyes fill with tears – she was truly invested.) Then the following stampede of midwives who had been involved in my care over the past four days who came in over the next few hours to congratulate me and have a look at the gorgeous baby who had caused all the kerfuffle! Doctors too, even wonderful Mr A was keen to know how things had resolved.

The next day we were discharged before lunch! But not before dumping a massive pile of chocolate and snacks at the ward desk. It makes me think that there must be a better way to say thank you. What I really wanted to say was this;

‘thank you, you gave me dignity in a terrifying moment. You listened to me and then gave me a voice when I didn’t have one any more. You used your time and skills to make my experience a positive one. You showed up that day despite the horrible bits of the job, despite the rubbish pay and the horrific hours. You got my baby out and I am so grateful.’

So there you go. Really this whole birth experience is a love letter to the NHS and the amazing staff who populate it, especially the women and the BAME staff members who keep the ship afloat. I was able to have the birth I wanted because of people who listened to me and used their considerable skills supporting me.

I could never forget any of my birthing experiences, for we are formed in the flames in these moments, as mothers, as women. But for this birth, my last birth, I will carry a feeling of triumph, of overcoming and for that I am so grateful.

Meeting the crew!!

 

Granny Jane

My darling granny passed away a week ago today, peacefully and gracefully and with strength. The same way as she lived. Her name was Jane or granny Janey as I called her. Born in 1936 she was the eldest of four children. As a teenager she was one of the very last debutantes to see the Queen at a ball before the tradition ended.  She loved books, working first when she was a young woman living in London as a librarian and eventually owning her own book shop, the Halcyon. Her house was always overflowing with literature which was one of the earliest smells of my childhood. Its not hard to find the route of my love of reading, books have passed from her to my mum to me for as long as I can remember. We are inorexably linked by a long line of varied fictional characters.

 

She was also an avid lover of art of all descriptions and a frequenter of galleries all her adult life. Always popping up to London for one exhibition or another, she would send us postcards of things she thought we would appreciate or things that reminded her of us. During lockdown she sent my kids cards and newspaper cuttings of funny things. She never missed a birthday even with 8 grandchildren and 8 great grandchildren!  

 Granny Janie loved horses, when I was 10 she dragged me along with her on a hack. She assumed that as her granddaughter I should have an intuitive ability with horses (I did not!) But I was just so delighted to be inexpertly bouncing along on an adventure with her that it didn't matter! She was incredibly adventurous and in her seventies she and a friend rode across the Jordan Desert on Arabian horses, in what sounded like a completely mad but wonderful experience.    

 She never seemed to stereotypically fit the box of what a 'grandmotherly' person might be, she sailed well into her retirement, they would charter yaughts, and we would skinny dip in the warm Turkish sea. Her and grandpa would show us all how the sailing should be done (generally whilst I vomited over the side of the vessel!)  

 She was unfailingly kind, and was committed for almost 4 decades to Hartfield village church. She was very loved there and always a driving force for change and hope. She adored tennis and played twice a week in the village right up until she fell ill. Swimming was another of her joys. I learnt to swim at Little Tye, their house where they were lucky enough to have a beautiful open air pool. She was rocking a bikini well into her sixties, always looking sensational with unbelievable long legs that sadly missed my genetic line!

When I'm stressed or sad, that is the place I go to in my head. I can still smell the flowers that grew by the pool and feel the heat from the sun on my back, water on my face, bundled up in a towel on the swing seat. My parents were married from that house and 28 years later so was I. On a wet August day, I stepped into my wedding dress in her bedroom, three generations of us standing together, surrounded by the smell of her perfume next to her dressing table covered in photos. 

 At Little Tye granny would bring a teapot down to the poolside, always a mix with Earl Grey and those biscuits that are more chocolate than anything else. The taste of Earl Grey will always be synonymous with her for me. I can't express how much joy and wonder my grandmother brought into my life in the time that I was blessed to know her. She has given us all so very much. She shared my little brothers obsession with Tennis. She would get tickets for Wimbledon through her club and take him with her. To my older brother she gave a love of gardening and the Great British historical houses. This postcard from her has been in my bedside table all year.

In the end after a short but ferocious illness granny made a decision to not live a life hampered by permenant dialysis. Right to the end she was strong and in control of her own fate. She leaves behind a legacy of love, a life well lived and death defeated through her faith in Jesus. I am so greatful to have known her and been shaped by her many passions and delights and we will all miss her enormously.

In which we are not feeling quite like ourselves.

Clara said to me in the car this week, 'I just don't feel very much like myself'.

I almost had to pull over such was the arrow straight truth of this. She is oddly in tune with and articulate about, her feelings. This isn’t the first time that she has taken the words out of my mouth with her simple descriptions.

 It struck me that yes, how can we feel anything like ourselves, without people to orient ourselves against? Without school, without friends, without hugs or parties, soft play or grandparents? She is still learning about her place in the world and its suddenly been cut off at the knees (for the third time in a year). 

Recently she has taken to telling people (via zoom generally) that 'the world has turned upside down!' (said with much enthusiasm and hand gestures to illustrate). Her general point is that her little sister is still trotting off to preschool every morning while she, the big girl, stays home with daddy to do her lessons. Life IS pretty strange lets be honest, for most of us at the moment. 

We have generally settled into this third lockdown a little bit too comfortably if you ask me. It feels less weird than the other ones. We have become used to living with less. To limiting our ideas and perspectives. Almost, (but not quite) immune to the staggering death toll and infection rate.

 (In fact, about the only thing that we’re not bloody well immune to is covid19 itself!) 

 The last couple of weeks in Leeds we have had snow. Oodles and oodles of it, the stuff you dream about waking up to as a kid, enough for gigantic snow people and proper Enid Blyton snowball fights. The children have been ludicrously delighted and have submerged themselves in it whenever they possibly could. 

The schools shut this Friday, not that it mattered too much to Clara who is, as I previously mentioned being scrupulously ( I hope) home educated by her father. But it meant that I got a bonus weekend day from work. I started walking to work on Friday before I heard that school was shut and found myself moved by it afresh.

 You see snow offers a settling. A purity of sorts. I don't understand it really. On a grown-up level I'm really irritated by it, and the car was stuck so I was quite literally trapped by it. But on a deeper, older level I was calmed and enchanted. It brings fun and lightness in its thick unapologetic, unsolicited blanket. 

 This Friday morning as I walked while the sun rose upon my back I was aware of how the snow drew forth smiles on strangers faces, at something so much bigger than us, something so gloriously inconvenient, something to think about other than the virus. 

 This year I feel that the seasons have marked the passing of time better and more reliably than any of the normal things. No restrictions have been put on them. They have continued as God intended. sun shining and Leaves dropping when they ought to, now snow falling. I have inhabited the perfect cycle of a children’s storybook year and it has brought me great comfort. 

For despite everything, we are still here. We are still marking the gradual passing of time allotted to each month and year just like we always have done and regardless of how much we wish it would pass or linger. 

 And I do want it to pass - and very soon if at all possible. 

But for now, I will stay here and inhabit my strange upside down world in the best and most hopeful way I possibly can.

 I am sending my love to you as you do the same.

Landslides

I am in the garden, and my imagination fills it up with people unbidden. Cousins shout and giggle at me from the hammock, the paddling pool overflows as kids jump in and out.

Friends in and out of our spare room, shared meals around our too small table in the kitchen.

Matts ordination, the smiling faces of friends old and new. Back two summers ago to Sylvies first birthday, gazebo up blowing out the candles surrounded by balloons and more people.

I pull myself back to the present. Just me, pushing Leo on the swing as the blazing sun sets on another autumn day.

I felt the loss at that moment.

I haven’t written in a while because, honestly whats to write? When there was a bit of freedom on the cards we were jumping at it and too busy experiencing it to bother putting pen to paper! Then when it slowly ebbed away I felt too disheartened to record it.

Today I felt like I wanted to again though. Leeds goes into tier three on Monday. Life will go back to being more like the lockdown we experienced in the spring, I want to write about the strangeness of these times. The odd sense of futility as the numbers rise again. The bizarre parcelling up of the UK with first the devolved nations and then of England itself as we are organised into tiers.  

We had some truly glorious times over the summer, visiting friends and going on holiday. We even had people stay with us which was amazing. A meal for Sylvie’s birthday with close friends was another highlight.

 And finally I hosted my immediate family for my mums 60^th birthday. That day was one of those memories that we’ll all keep forever. 

We've also managed to met our nephew Arlo and our niece Charlotte who were both born during lockdown. 

Arlo!

                                                                                   

I’m so glad that we went full throttle in the summer months (though we were of course within the rules, safe and socially distanced etc) because now we’ve been cast back into murky uncertainty again.

|Tomlinson time

It feels almost more surreal to me than the first time. Of course we’ve learned some coping mechanisms since that first lockdown and have had some improvements in our circumstances…

-        -   Regular bike riding is now happily a part of my life, space for just me or for adventuring with one of the kids.

 -  - We now have Clara in school and Sylvie in preschool so I don’t have to entertain them so much throughout the week (as long as schools stay open!)

solo time with this one

Best Bubble pals!

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-     - We have formed a ‘childcare bubble’ with a friend to keep our 1yr olds socialising and hopefully to ensure that they won’t suffer too much separation anxiety when things do go back to normal.

-    - We did it once before and we know that we can do it again. Humans are so resilient as we have seen all around the world in this time.

-     -  I’ve finally mastered booking online shopping slots

Above all we are so fortunate that Matt has a secure job and that we are able to keep afloat well even in the tough times. We tell ourselves this a LOT because honestly looking down the barrel of the next six months is so stressful that it has me reaching for the metaphorical (and often as my waistline can attest to, the actual!) cookies.

Little Charlotte 

I am not okay, this country is not okay and the world is not okay. Yet somehow we must find a way through this thing.

I am trying to apply my thoughts to jobs and the future but I’m struggling to find clarity. I am often exhausted and my concentration is not what it used to be.

Author Sarah Bessey recently likened the global situation to a mountain lake into which a landslide of mud and silt has been dumped. She went on to reflect the following which I found useful..

‘I’d argue that 2020 is a particular landslide for all of us - a global pandemic, uncertainty, political upheaval, exploding racial tensions, rise of Christian nationalism, the powers and principalities of this world all rising. The landslides aren’t over for many of us. We have been buried under the landslides of our times and our days…And we wonder why nothing feels clear, why everything feels murky and uncertain and muddy. We’re living in the aftermath of the landslide and it simply takes time for the dust to settle… in order to have full clarity of what - if anything - is next.’

I guess what I’m saying by sharing this is that we need to have ultimate compassion on ourselves and our neighbours right now. So much is still to come, so much upheaval and inconvenience.

So lets put one foot in front of the other together as we move towards advent. This is normally one of my favourite times of year for slowing down (HA) unplugging and looking forward to once again being reminded of what Jesus was willing to do for us.

This year we need reminding of his mercy more than ever. I desperately need to immerse myself in the hope and joy that that he continually brings, the renewal and strength that comes from his spirit in us.  

making the most of time
with one of my best friends 

the BEST holiday

we celebrated 7 years married!

Day 100

Well here we are.

Girls are back at preschool for the next couple of weeks and we are working out this tentative new normal. we had a lovely time enjoying some freedom in the glorious sunshine last week and just figuring out how life works now.  

coffee with my boyz

Here is a recent exchange with the girls which sums up the confusion of the country;

Clara: 'so we can go back to preschool mummy, are the poorly people better?'

Me: 'umm no, at least not all of them, some of them are better but not everyone.'

Clara: 'so can we go swimming?'

Me: 'no I'm afraid not'

Sylvie: (interrupting in a sing song tone) 'but we can always go to the woods?!'

Me: 'yes Sylvie we can always go to the woods, how about this afternoon?!'

Sylvie: 'but I don't want to'

Me: oh okay.

Clara: and can we see granny and grandpa?

Me: yes I think we can stay with them soon! Although probably best not to hug them, I think, but I'm not sure *bangs head against wall*

I've been feeling deflated, partly by dint of the cooler weather, partly by the baby cutting molars with a resultant serious dip in the sleep stakes.

Trying to stay well, mainly by not reading news articles entitled 'the new swine flu', excercizing regularly and cutting out sweets and chocolate for now (Sob).

Just getting through each day at this point.

Gradually dipping our toe into making plans to see family and friends, the baby turned one this past weekend and we celebrated it with my brother and his family which was lovely.

one!!

teeny babe

cant believe it was a whole year ago that we finally convinced him to come out!!! Full story is here...

                       http://encounterswithjoy.blogspot.com/2019/07/leo-isaac-david.html

with his cousin

strawberry picking 

Leo celebrated it by learning how to throw things in the toilet! (RIP landline).

weve also been discovering some more local walks and making some new equine friends. 

Sending love and hoping that everyone else is enjoying some of the simpler pleasures in this new normal. 

love adventuring with these lovelies

garden haul

I made Jam! for the first time since I did it here.....

                                         http://encounterswithjoy.blogspot.com/2010/07/jam.html

Balancing Act

When I look at this picture I think of the balance tipping. I think about what a delicate tightrope the whole world is walking on right now.

A balance that can come crashing down at any moment.

This picture looks peaceful and calm, but 10 minutes later me and Sylvie were both crying our eyes out.

Like I said, things can change quickly around here.

At the start of the week we all felt quite hopeful! Things were gradually getting better, the girls were due back at preschool for two mornings at the start of the week and Matt had taken the week off for a much needed break and change in routine. Day trips were planned and we were excited.

Then suddenly, on Monday evening after a lovely morning of preschool Clara complained of a headache and we realised she was running a temperature.

She was still hot in the morning so we took her to have a Covid test done. As those of you who have had one know, it is a far from pleasant experience. She was scared and upset and it was pretty stressful for Matt as well who had to administer the test in the back of the car.

Since then we've been waiting for the result. She perked up very quickly and has been her normal cheerful self (which I am beyond greatful for) but the flip side is that we all have to isolate until we get a negative test back for her.

This has cast a serious gloom on Matt and I, which the (ever observant) children have picked up on. Watching these precious rest days waste away. We've tried to do some fun things, but I just feel terrible.

Trapped once again, freedom taken away.

I hate this.

Just after the first picture was taken I attempted to put Sylvie In her bed. Just as she was dropping off a friend rang the doorbell and woke her. After that she was inconsolable. I lay down next to her and after a while began to cry as well, rocking her in my arms.

This is so hard.

These days can feel isolated and introspective. In the same hour I can feel both like parent of the year and a complete failure. There is a sense of disconnect for me that I am finding is casting me severely off kilter.

Like I said before, we are all balancing.

Yet some things need to come crashing down. I've been following the changes triggered by the aftermath of the tragic death of George Floyd. So many voices are speaking up and finally being heard. We all need to re-examine ourselves in the light of George Floyd's murder and in the light of the many other black lives needlessly lost.

Personally I am sorry for where I haven't been aware enough or perhaps interested enough, to speak up and make changes. To push forwards into a world where Black lives are valued and protected in the same way that their white counterparts take for granted.

I am commited to re-educating myself and those I hold sway with. To standing as a better and stronger advocate until privalege is something that we can all enjoy whatever the tone of our skin.

There is so much to learn and we are often scared to say anything in case we say the wrong thing. But maybe life is too short for us to live enthralled to the terrible possibility of being wrong.

So these are the tightropes I'm balancing on at the moment. I know I'm not alone no matter how much it can feel like it sometimes. So many of us are asking deeper questions both of ourselves and of the systems all around us.

And I'm struggling for God, longing to hear his voice in this mess. Longing to feel his grace for the terrible hash we humans have made of things.

Right now he speaks to me through our Psalm 23 baby board book. 

Every night Leo reaches for it and somehow every night it ministers to the raw and confused places in me. I think anything else would be too complicated right now. But somehow in the words intended for a child, I have found some peace.

I have included the final paragraph here.

The book is 'Found' Psalm 23 by Sally Lloyd Joles

'Wherever I go I know

 God’s never stopping
never giving up
unbreaking 

always and forever love will go too!”
Looking forward to brighter days soon.

birthday dungerees

back when it was sunny!

and finally speaking of balancing Leo is now officially a Biped!